


A Taste of Desire

by MammaWeasley27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bakery, F/M, Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MammaWeasley27/pseuds/MammaWeasley27
Summary: The only thing more delectable than the treats being sold down at the new bakery in Diagon Alley is the baker, and Adrian would do anything to have a taste of her...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Death_by_Quill](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Death_by_Quill) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Round Two Only  
> Theme: Temptation
> 
> I don't own HP.

Life after the war had been quite dull for Adrian Pucey. His family hadn't had any ties to the Dark Lord, so after completing his seventh year of Hogwarts and graduating (with seven N.E.W.T.s, to his mother’s eternal pride and joy), he was able to get a low level job at the Ministry, clerking for one of the Wizengamot members. He didn't love it, but his father had always told him that he should do the grunt work while he was young, so that when he was older, he would be well-off enough to pursue something he actually  _ did _ enjoy. This had always seemed like solid advice - after all, the Puceys weren’t like the Malfoys or Parkinsons; they had actually worked hard for their wealth and influence, not been born to it - but listening to his father wax poetic and _ actually _ doing it were two very different things. 

 

The war was almost ten years ago now, and two job changes ago. Adrian was finally situated moved into a position that he enjoyed - that of magical solicitor, complete with a clerk of his very own. He still had a boss, but that was only in the technical sense, as he owned his own practice with Zabini as his partner; solicitors worked under the Supreme Mugwump and the members of the Wizengamot. That was the good thing about law; it may have been stuffy and dull (it  _ really  _ was), but because he was in charge of himself, he got to choose when and where he worked each day, unless it was a court day. He had been using that fact to his benefit since the first month, and had been taking his work out of the office as much as possible. After all, if he paid his own salary, but couldn’t decide where and when he worked, what was the point?

 

Unfortunately, ever since that new bakery,  _ La Boulangerie sur Mesure _ , opened up in Diagon Alley, his lunch breaks had become increasingly long, and his work was beginning to suffer because of it. Adrian figured that the only reason he hadn't been reprimanded yet - or cursed, since it was Zabini, after all - was because he had been taking his notes and briefs with him to work on while he was there, and he was one hell of a solicitor. 

 

Truly, the only reason he was taking so long was because the blasted bakery constantly had a line - oftentimes over an hour’s wait - simply to get inside, and that didn’t include placing his order. He could rarely find a table, and the few times he did, he had been forced to pounce on it before another customer could do so, occasionally having to resort to Slytherin tactics to come out on top. He could never hold it against anyone who beat him to a table, though. He simply couldn’t find it in himself to fault them, as they were after the same thing he was - pure heaven, made of flour and sugar. 

 

When the shop had opened up, it had set off a shockwave through the wizarding community. The papers had heralded its opening as a turning point in wizarding society. All baking was to be done the Muggle way, which set the papers twittering and mouths running, everyone scrambling to discover who the owner was. He still remembered the headlines:

 

**First Muggle Bakery Coming Soon to Diagon Alley**

 

**War Heroine Turned Baker? - Hermione Granger Behind Muggle Bakery?**

 

It seemed Hermione Granger had done it again, at least if you believed the press. It was said she’d bought the shop under a pseudonym, which was cracked by the ever-vicious Rita Skeeter, or so she claimed. No one had actually seen Ms. Granger at or around the establishment, but that didn’t stop conspiracy theorists from theorizing. Adrian, however, didn’t care  _ who _ baked the goods, just as long as they kept baking them. 

 

He would never admit it, but he loved to imagine that it really  _ was _ Hermione  who was carefully crafting each item he bought, putting a piece of herself into the desserts he had come to love so much. He had harbored a crush on her in school, but he was still too caught up in the Pure-blood propaganda at that point in his life to even begin to make a go of it at the time. So, now he came almost daily to the little shop in order to catch a glimpse of her - _ if _ she even owned it.

 

He knew he was becoming the talk of the office, though: Adrian Pucey, the young, attractive solicitor who simply  _ must _ be out enjoying a bit of afternoon delight when he truly should be working. After all, what other reason would one have for taking hours long breaks multiple times per week? Zabini had begun ribbing him about it, and had their clerks and receptionist in on the joke as well now, which was yet another reason to eat out.

 

They were only half wrong. He certainly was out, preparing to partake in a slice of afternoon delight, however, this one would be covered in chocolate, most likely, and flour-based. At least he thought it was flour based; he knew next nothing of baking. 

 

As he made his way down the alley towards the shop, he groaned at the line, which he could see reached around the corner and trailed off towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. Today was going to be one of those days, it seemed. 

 

He slowed as he approached the queue, already dreading the crick he would get in his neck from working while standing, which would make the best use of his time. Magic may have helped many things, but the stiffness one got in one’s neck while holding their head at an odd angle was not one of them.

 

Just as he was opening his case someone cleared their throat in front of him, causing him to raise his eyes to the man in front of him. 

 

It was one of the shop clerks, at least he assumed from the uniform. Adrian groaned, sure they were there to tell him they were cutting off the line, or were completely sold out. Today was beginning to look like a takeaway day...

 

“Adrian Pucey?” The younger man asked, with very little in his voice to suggest it wasn’t actually a statement. 

 

Adrian frowned deeply, “Whom, may I inquire, is asking?” he returned stonily. 

 

The clerk was unperturbed. He simply turned on his heel and began to make his way back towards the shop. “Follow me, please.” he called.

 

Adrian had just decided to ignore him when the man turned back around and dryly asked, “Are you coming?”

 

Figuring he could at least follow him into the shop to complain about his attitude, Adrian began to walk after him, pointedly ignoring the furious stares of the patrons who had been in front of him. He couldn't help it if he was being moved up, for whatever purpose. It wasn't like he asked for preferential treatment, for Merlin’s sake!

 

As they neared the bakery, the glares and heated murmurs intensified. Adrian decided to hold his case like he was simply there for business, but he knew he was doing a shit job of it. 

 

When the man ushered Adrian through the bakery door, the scents hit him like a wall. A comforting, delicious wall, but a wall nonetheless. 

 

“Here’s your table, sir,” the shop attendant said, waving his hand imperiously at a table for one, topped with a “Reserved” sign, and situated directly in the middle of the shopfront window. 

 

Adrian raised a brow in question, which the man answered by jabbing his hand at the table again, clearly over his task. 

 

He sat down cautiously, suddenly realizing that the whole setup could be some elaborate prank one of his friends (Malfoy? Or Zabini, perhaps? Definitely seemed like something Zabini would do.) orchestrated. Nothing untoward happened when his ass hit the seat, other than him receiving a few odd looks for his seemingly unnecessary neurosis. They clearly didn’t know his friends...

 

Before he could even ask for a menu, another clerk was at his shoulder with a tray holding a coffee and a decadent looking chocolate  _ thing _ , which she placed before him prior to walking back to the kitchen. Adrian didn’t know exactly what to call it, but it was spherical, with a shiny, mirror-like chocolate ganache glaze and a web of caramelized sugar sitting jauntily atop it. He looked around to try and catch someone -  _ anyone’s _ attention - but the only people who were looking his way were those still outside the shop window, and he certainly didn’t want to hold their eyes for too long.

 

Shrugging, he picked up the dessert fork that had been provided and carefully cut into the dessert. Slowly, he took a bite, terrified that someone had stuck a Puking Pastille inside.

 

The world stopped. Well, it might as well have.

 

Quickly, he took another, this time letting the flavors hit his tongue before he began chewing.  _ Merlin _ , it was amazing. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He got hints of mocha and espresso, along with some sort of whipped filling, and soft, moist layers of cake. The closest he could come to identifying it was a Tiramisu, but he knew this was levels beyond that in terms of decadence.

 

He ate slowly, making sure to savor each and every bite. When it was gone, he stared at his plate for a moment, contemplating if anyone would notice if he licked it clean. Unfortunately, one of the clerks took it away before he had made his decision. His coffee sat cold and abandoned, and his briefcase remained unopened next to his chair; it seemed it was going to be another long night at the office due to an over-indulgence at lunch.

 

He sat for a further ten minutes or so before he stood and made his way over to the order counter, ignoring those who had waited in line. He didn’t have time to wait; No one had approached his table with a bill, so he wanted to see what was going on. Maybe another patron had paid for his meal (if you could call it that), or maybe one of his friends had set the whole thing up. Either way, he was going to find out; he would hate to be persona non grata at his favorite bakery. Especially when such deliciousness as that chocolate thing came from the kitchens…

 

“Hello, how may I help you this afternoon, Mr. Pucey? Was everything to your liking?” the girl behind the cash register asked in a bright voice. 

 

Adrian was brought up short, suddenly reminded of how the other clerk had known him earlier. “I’m sorry, have we been introduced? How does everyone here know my name?”

 

The girl just smiled and reached underneath the counter for an envelope. “Have a good day, Mr. Pucey.” And just like that, he was dismissed, the clerk already having moved on to the person whose spot he had hijacked.

 

_____

 

He opened the envelope as soon as he reached the privacy of his office.

 

_ Dear Mr. Pucey, _

 

_ I don’t rightly know why I’m writing you this letter, other than that you intrigue me. You come into my shop day after day, always trying something new. That is so rare in this business, as usually my patrons find the  _ one thing  _ they enjoy, and then they order it time after time after time. Then they come in and complain when it's no longer on the menu, seemingly incapable of trying something new.  _

 

_ But not you. Oh no. Variety is clearly the spice of your life, as you haven't had the same thing twice yet.  _

 

_ I have a proposition for you: how would you like to be a taster? I'm always in need of new help testing out new recipes.  _

 

_ Please join me tonight at 10pm to discuss. I know you have some work to catch up on, and will likely be late working.  _

 

_ Yours, _

 

_ Jean _

_ Owner of La Boulangerie sur Mesure _

 

Suddenly the shop clerks knowing his name was the  _ least _ disconcerting part of his day. This  _ Jean _ knew far too much about him. And, due to the name, he had no idea if they were a man or a woman. This could all be some sort of set up. Growing up a Slytherin, he knew not to discount anything until it was proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was safe. 

 

On the other hand, he was being offered the chance to try all the deserts before they were available. Even some that would never see the light of day… and Jean was right, he had tried something new each time he had gone. 

 

The day passed quite quickly after that, mostly due to his indecisiveness over whether or not he should go that evening. This would be his chance to finally put to rest just who the owner was, and while he was disappointed that it was clearly  _ not _ Hermione Granger, he was quite intrigued to find out who was behind the strange events of the day, not to mention the amazing pastries.

  
He did, indeed, stay at the office late, leaving just in time to reach the shop by 10. He could see light spilling out onto the cobblestones as he walked up, and before he could second guess himself, he pulled open the door and stepped inside. And there before him stood one Hermione Granger. She was still wearing her apron, as the shop had only just closed at 9, and there was flour in her voluminous hair. “Hi,” she said quietly, smiling shyly at him as the door swung shut. “I’m sorry about all the intrigue, but you cannot imagine how impossible it’s been to keep this quiet. Everyone would be casting _Unforgivables_ if they knew I was searching for tasters. It’s actually the reason I’ve had to reach out to you - turns out my former ones only came on so they could say they worked for me. They ended up spilling my secrets to other chefs, or trying to. But they’ve been taken care of, so that’s that.” Her hands bounced nervously, uselessly off her thighs. It relaxed him to see that she was just as unsettled as he was. 

He cleared his throat, not trusting his voice. “Honestly, I’m just glad you’re a you. And a woman.”

Hermione laughed, the sound reverberating around the empty shop. “Why’s that?”

“So I can do this,” Adrian said, crossing to her side and enveloping her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers before she could truly react.

He pulled back, searching his eyes, “This - you are the one thing I’ve wanted to taste each time I’ve come here.”

“And?” she queried, her cheeks pink.

“By far my favorite thing I’ve had yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> A massive shout out to my beta, MissandMarauder! You're amazing, babe.


End file.
